


Cacoethes Scribendi

by Sunevial



Category: Discord Murder Party (Podcast)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunevial/pseuds/Sunevial
Summary: Entry Number 0If you are reading this...I'm sorry...





	Cacoethes Scribendi

Sandaled feet pounded against stone, footsteps echoing down the once great halls and mingling with the screams and crumbling walls outside. Flames licked against the young woman’s heels, nipping at the edges of her chiton and singeing her already shorn hair. The world smelled of ash and dust and blood. She paid little mind to any of this, stumbling over bits of broken stone as she ran for the archives as if possessed by the gods themselves. 

Reaching a fork in the hallway, she bolted down the next corridor, vaulting over a fallen pillar with a surprising amount of grace. With her height and boyish figure, none of the scribes or librarians had ever suspected that she was, well, not a man. It had been a risky move, enslavement or death if caught, but someone had to be the man of the house with her father bedridden and all of her brothers killed by plague or war. Not that she had ever really cared about consequences or familial duty; all she wanted was to be able to read and write as much as her heart desired, pouring over the scrolls until her eyes drooped and her fingers bled. 

Even in its decline, the Library of Alexandria was her god, her dream, her only desire. It was place of knowledge and logic, where scholars used to bring information from across the Roman empire and add a copy to the vast collections and archives, filled with math and history and and myth and philosophy. Scholars would debate furiously over matters great and small, filling the halls with their lectures as those who could write meticulously copied scroll after painstaking scroll. As far as she was concerned, sacrificing her identity was well worth becoming a scribe’s apprentice, to become a branch of that ever growing tree of intellect and reason. 

And now it was burning.

 _Her_ library was burning.

The young woman reached the archives, throwing open the door with a heave. The fragile papers shuttered in the heat, curling at the edges and resting precariously on wooden frames. Not bothering to read the descriptions, she snatched scrolls left and right, taking what care she could to stack them into the baskets strapped to her back. Rolls of paper, papyrus, even cotton and linen at times, all containing pieces of the past that could not be replaced, not in this corner of the world. 

She couldn’t hope to save it all, or even a fraction of what existed in these halls. 

But she was still alive. She was alive, and she could save what she could carry. It was a better alternative to running and hiding, hoping that she wouldn’t get run down with a spear or her true identity revealed. With what she knew of the invading force, it might be more merciful if they did run her down. 

She would take that over an existence of subservience and forced ignorance. 

Taking the last scroll off the shelf, she packed it amongst the others and forcefully tied the lid onto her standing basket. Looking around the room, she found a number of heavy earthen jugs and began stuffing scroll after scroll into anything that looked remotely fire resistant. When even that wasn’t enough, the young woman heaved her basket over her back and stepped back into the hall. The flames were growing wilder, the heat worse than the kitchen fires on a sweltering day. She heaved the door closed once more, praying the heat treated wood would hold long enough to protect at least some of the things inside. 

Then again, what gods of hers were actually listening at this point? If they actually gave a damn, they would’ve poured down rain and death, leaving the library walls untouched and their enemies broken. 

Her eyes began to burn, ash mixing with tears and sweat as the fire drew closer. Biting back screams of frustration and panic, she bolted down the hallway, desperately trying to remember where the other exits were located. Hallway after hallway, room after room, doomed archive after doomed archive, she ran, the clashes outside growing ever louder and the flames behind her growing ever stronger. Paper crinkled and cracked behind her, and her tears grew ever stronger.

How much had they already lost?

What would the world do with so much knowledge reduced to ash?

There was a loud crack, one that echoed down the empty chambers and pierced the ongoing din of flames and war. Then another, each one ringing louder in her ears and driving her feet faster as cracks appeared along the pillars. With a final rousing crack, as if Jupiter himself had split the sky with lightning and thunder, the ceiling collapsed.

Pillars tumbled.

She threw the basket off her back just as rock came crashing down on her legs. Stone slammed into flesh, snapping bone and breaking skin. A shocked cry escaped her lips, eyes wide as she desperately tried to shift away from the small mountain of rubble over her body. With every movement, bone scraped where it should not and pain coursed through her veins. Biting back screams of anguish, she pulled at the rocks one by one, her movements frantic and crazed. Her feet were numb and useless, but they could still feel the growing heat of the fire.

She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do except move rubble until the heat cooked her insides.

Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was panic. Maybe it was simply good old fashioned fear of gods that had abandoned her, maimed her, and left her to die a horrible death.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

“Help!” she screamed, her voice raw and wracked with tears. She collapsed onto the ground, her strength slowly being sapped from her broken body. Blood was beginning to pool around her legs, seeping from all the broken skin and soaking her clothes. “Anyone! Please! Any god or ghost or demon or devil alike! I do not care the cost, just please…please do not let it all burn.” 

“ _Any_ god?” a voice said. The young woman slowly, painfully lifted her head, eyes bleary and not willing to focus in the heat. Through it all, she made out the shape of a short woman, her silhouette framed by a strange dark red dress. Her eyes were a haunting gold, light blonde hair cut impossibly short, hands stained black and collarbone pierced with a black star. “Now, I don’t know about you, but randomly calling on gods seems like risky business to me. It attracts attention you might not want, you know.”

“Please…please, I will give you anything,” the young woman said, pushing up onto her arms as far as she could. “Save the library and I will do anything for you.”

A smirk crossed the strange god’s face. She knelt on one knee, looking down on her broken form with a powerful gaze. “Anything?”

“Anything, please, I beg of you!” The young woman grabbed the hem of the god’s garments, her fingers feeling weak.

The god chuckled, placing a finger under the young woman’s chin. “Hm…well, I have an idea of what you could do for me, but it would be rather difficult,” she said, humming a small tune on her lips. “It wouldn’t be very pretty or get you much glory, but I personally think you’d be very good at it, given that you seem to be a pretty good scribe all on your own.”

More crashes sounded behind them as the heat of the flames only grew. Her vision momentarily warped, words stuck in her throat. Whoever this god was, she was not good, kind, or well known, save for the strange whispers of those who had come close to death and seen a woman in red. Whatever fate awaited her, there was no guarantee it would be better than just dying here. But she was desperate. She was dying. 

And gods damn it, she didn’t want to die just yet.

The young woman slowly croaked something out. “I will…do whatever you ask of me…all I want is the library to be saved.”

The god extended a hand. “What is your name, my new Bookkeeper?”

The young woman hesitated but a moment.

K̷̨̢͕̤͕̦̝̤̜͔̩̜̙̥͙̞͚̖͇̗̹̙͕̙̣͛̈̐̊̃̑̕͜͝͝͠ͅͅơ̴̡̢̢̨̡̪͕̤̬̰̼̪̤͚̱̻̘̙̭̫͍͚̳͚͕̠͈͓̻̓͆͐̽͂̆̈́̐̀͂̅̌̚͜͝r̷̨̡̘͓͚̗̲̝̗̩͎̞̈̒̄̌̃͆͊͒̈́̉̆̔̃͗̏̉̆̔̊̒̊̆̆͒̽̂͒͗͗̌̽͌̕̚͘͠͝ĭ̶̡̡̼͓͍̗̱̝̳͉̞̰̠̗̯͇̺̤̩͔͓̭̝͓̫̪̻͖̫̰̜͖̱͎̦̝̻̥̿͌̏̽͐́̔̌̀͘͜͜͝͠n̸̨̧̡̧̧̨̨͔̭͙̠͕̺͎̖̮̼̹͎̤̙͉̦̖̭̖̥̟͙͍̤̹̱͉̺̦̻̄̑̒͊̈́̕͜͝n̷̝̺̤͖̱̺̪̅͂̓͂̐͑͛̊̂̽͝ͅͅa̷͍̦̲̤͉̓͜

The moment the words left her lips, the world went black.

* * *

Time and space were ephemeral, turning itself over and over again, showing her pictures of red strings and bloodstains no matter which way she turned. The world was bright and dark, beautiful and terrifying, haunting and ever so alluring. She floated in the nothing, aware of her surroundings and yet unable to perceive anything at all. There was no way of telling how long she rested there, mind wandering in places in between.

The young woma-

No, her name was Bookkeeper now.

Bookkeeper awoke with a start, eyes shooting open and suddenly incredibly aware of her surroundings. She was still in the library, no longer lying on the floor but suspended in midair in a bed of soft red strings. The same red threads stretched across the halls, hanging from banisters and waving between sparking pillars. The carpets along the floor were blemish free, vibrantly dyed and showing scenes of some of the oldest myths she could name. Everything was strangely bright, light filtering in from windows that had not been there before. No rubble was to be seen; no fire damage graced the walls. 

Ever so slowly, she moved her legs out from under her body, equally surprised to both have a full range of motion and no shooting pains. Her ruined clothes were gone, replaced with a strange green robe with sleeves and a black underdress. She ran her arms through her hair, surprised to see that it was considerably longer than before. Fingertips brushed up against ears, ever so slightly pointed at the tips.

“Ah, I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake up,” someone said, her voice carrying up the strings and making Bookkeeper’s arm hairs stand on end. She peered over the edge of her floating bed, spying a woman with modest clothes and brown hair tied at the nape of her neck. Strangely enough, her own eyes were shut tight. “I would not try walking for a little bit, dear. Your legs might be functioning, but they will be weak for awhile yet.”

“I…see,” Bookkeeper replied. “How am I supposed to get around if I cannot walk?” 

The woman smiled, though the action seemed hollow. “Have you tried floating instead?”

Bookkeeper blinked. “Humans are incapable of leaving the ground like that.”

“Who’s to say that you are completely human anymore?” she replied, the words making Bookkeeper’s blood run cold for a second.

Narrowing her eyes, Bookkeeper pushed up on her hands with slightly more force, not expecting much to come of it. To her surprise, her body slowly left the mass of strings, leaving her suspended in the air. She reached out for one of the strings that made up her bed and pulled herself down to the ground, hovering closer to the woman at the bottom.

“...thank you,” Bookkeeper said, clearing her throat ever so slightly. “I’m…the Bookkeeper, I suppose.” 

“Oh I’m aware, dear,” the woman said with a dismissive tone, giving a hand wave and beginning to walk down the hall. “You may call me Priestess.”

Still hanging onto the strings, Bookkeeper pulled herself after Priestess, struggling to keep pace with the much faster woman. “Do you…work for Her too?”

“Ah you mean our Lady,” she replied, giving a small smile. Her mouth was lined with sharp teeth. “I do indeed.”

She gave a hesitant nod, the stories told in hushed tones and the contents of deliberately hidden scrolls slowly coming back to her. If this who she thought it was, if their Lady was who she thought it was… “Where exactly are we?” Bookkeeper asked, glancing around the strangely repaired library. “Are we…dead?”

The woman laughed, the sound more akin to a wild dog than that of a human. “Oh goodness, She really didn’t tell you anything, did She? Well, no matter, you will learn everything in time,” Priestess said, adjusting a strange set of glass affixed over her eyes. “You asked for your library to be saved, but there was far too much damage done to the original structure. Thus, She transported it to her realm and cleaned it up as much as She could. As for where this is, we are in the Void, a space between worlds.”

Bookkeeper cast her eyes towards the ground, trying to keep her face from showing any weakness. This was…not exactly what she had wanted, though the library being stuck in a god’s realm was infinitely better than it being lost for all of time. “Who is she, if I may ask?”

“Our Lady is a great storyteller, one who runs games of great intrigue and drama, and one who needs great amounts of souls to be able to properly run them,” Priestess replied, turning a corner and opening the door to one of the larger lecture halls. 

“Do those souls come from slaughter?” Bookkeeper asked, keeping her tone level as she pulled herself into the room. With painstaking care, she sat down on one of the long benches and stretched her legs out. “Because I have heard tales of a woman in red who appears in villages, only for everyone inside to tear each other apart as if they were nothing but animals.”

Once again, the woman laughed, this time with a touch of malice lining the harsh sound. She picked up a piece of paper off of a nearby table, gently rolling it between her gloved hands. “So I see our work has been noticed,” she mused, making a clicking sound with her mouth. “I’m almost flattered.”

“She is like one of the Phonoi, then? One of the Greek gods of murder?”

“Not exactly, but the comparison will do for now,” Priestess replied, reaching for a bottle of ink with a quill already resting upright.

Bookkeeper slowly nodded her head, keeping her gaze low and her body language neutral. No matter what she felt about her so called Lady, this God of Murder, she had made the deal. She had to suffer the consequences now. “Then…I suppose I am here to be her scribe?”

“Well, yes, why else would we pour so much time into fixing you?” Priestess said, taking the roll of paper and walking it over to the seated Bookkeeper. She took her own seat on the bench, placing the scroll into Bookkeeper’s lap and holding out the bottle of ink. “Our Lady has many events that she wishes to keep track of, and she is far too busy to record all the happenings and goings on of her followers and her court. That is a job better fit for someone like you, my dear Bookkeeper.”

With hesitant fingers, Bookkeeper took the bottle of ink and set it beside her legs. Taking the quill between her middle and pointer finger, she lifted it free of the bottle, watching red ink splash from the tip. 

She paused for a moment, looking to Priestess. “What…am I supposed to write first?”

“I am so glad you asked,” she replied, a wicked smile across her face. 

The world shifted. White marble walls fell away to hundreds of thousands of strings, interwoven and stretching out towards infinity. Darkness and light mixed in turn, bathing everything in eerie shades that chilled her to the bone. It was still, so quiet she could hear her own heart beating in her chest and every crack the paper under her finger made. They still sat side by side, though now in a nest of strings not unlike the one she had woken up in. 

Bookkeeper opened her mouth to ask her next question, only for words not to form as a young woman was hurtled down into a mess of strings below them and a winged man wreathed in purple hovered over her frail body.

“Now, remember how I said Our Lady runs games?” Priestess said, placing a hand on Bookkeeper’s shoulder. She opened her eyes into narrow slits, golden irises giving off a sadistic and ancient gaze. “Well, interfering with those and going against her wishes brings…certain consequences, shall we say. Your first task is very simple, dear. I want to record everything you see. You may take artistic liberties as you see fit, but you must present everything in a truthful and concise manner. Do I make myself clear?”

Her nails dug into Bookkeeper’s shoulder.

Bookkeeper took a deep breath, looking down at the cowering woman and the clearly alien figure. She could feel the urge to scream, to shout, to call out this as the horrible thing it was about to become, to heave the contents of her stomach out, _anything_ except just sit here, watch, and do nothing. But everything she knew she should do or think simply did not come, replaced with a vague emptiness and maybe the slightest hints of pity at the back of her mind. Trembling hands dipped the quill back into the ink.

This was her price.

This was her payment.

She set her quill to the paper.

“What are their names?”


End file.
